


twenty-four is more than half (of forty-seven)

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [73]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (or not), M/M, hermann gottlieb: closet romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Eventually there came a day Newt and Hermann were together for longer than they'd been apart.





	twenty-four is more than half (of forty-seven)

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Eventually there came a day Newt and Hermann were together for longer than they'd been apart."

Newt’s life is measured in ‘ _yes_ ’s and ‘ _no_ ’s, ‘ _can_ ’s and ‘ _cannot_ ’s and he delights in proving them wrong—the teachers, his peers, the people who doubt him;  _prove it_ , they say, and Doctor Newton Geiszler, holder of, by many accounts, a truly ridiculous number of degrees, throws back his head and laughs in their faces.

 _Prove it_ , the world demands.  _You can’t do it._

“Watch me,” Newt says, wild-eyed and teeth bared in a facsimile of a smile. 

He measures things this way—and also, in the ‘ _before_ ’s and the ‘ _after_ ’s.

Hermann quantifies. He breaks things down to their base components and puts them together to make new strings of data, of commands. This, Newt suspects, is part of why they argue—they speak the same language, in the end, it’s just that the paragraphs are structured differently.

 

It’s the year after the eleven-year anniversary of the end of the War; the two year anniversary of Newt’s mind being fully his own, and he says, quiet, mostly to himself, as he lays in bed, Hermann by his side, “We’ve been together longer than we’ve been apart.”

Hermann shifts incrementally to face him. “Oh?” he asks.

“Mhm,” Newt hums, eyes half-lidded, stares at the ceiling. “Twenty-four years, dude. That’s more than half of forty-seven.”

“We spent four of those years using, as you so kindly put it,  _snail mail_  to communicate,” Hermann says. He doesn’t say,  _We spent ten years apart_. That, Newt appreciates.

“You were in my heart the entire time,” Newt replies—half teasing, but wholly genuine, “every year I wasn’t with you, dude—I was thinking of you.  _Missing_  you.”

There’s a silence, and, for a moment, Newt wonders wildly—has he said something wrong?—and then Hermann speaks again, and this time, his words are choked with emotion. “I—I missed you as well. Every day, Newton— _achingly_.”

Newt draws in a breath—not startled, no, not really, but, perhaps, surprised. Instead of trying to parse the complicated flux of emotions—he’s never been good at understanding them, not even at the best of times—Newt says, “Then I’d say that we’ve been together longer than we’ve been apart.”

“By 0.5 years,” Hermann scoffs, pretends to be miffed when Newt laughs—”Really, Hermann, you can say six months,”—but he can’t disguise the smile that’s there, tugging at the edges of his lips.

Newt offers one of his own and scoots closer so that he can press his palm to Hermann’s cheek. Hermann gives him a startled look, wide-eyed—he does that every time. It’s adorable. “I’m very attached to you, Hermann,” Newt says.

That startles a huff out of Hermann. “You almost sound like  _me_ ,” he teases, smiling fully, now. “Perhaps we really  _have_  been together that long.”

“You betcha,” Newt replies. “No, but really, like, your legs are trapping mine, dude, I can’t fucking get  _up.”_

Hermann laughs. Shifts, again, so that Newt’s legs are freed— _finally_. Hermann may be thin, but he’s got some of the densest bones Newt’s come across—and turns his head to press a chaste kiss to the inside of Newt’s wrist. “I’m very attached to you, as well, Newton,” Hermann says, and then they’re quiet, content to just lay there in each other’s presence.

* * *

Newt doesn’t think about it, much—twenty-four is a good number. He marks them off, once, mentally, and then moves on, just a tiny bit more happy than before.

That’s why he’s confused when, one day, out of the blue, Hermann’s up before he is, and he makes blueberry pancakes, and there’s a small bouquet of flowers in a vase beside Newt’s place.

“Good…morning?” Newt greets, slightly puzzled, and then, “oh, god, blueberry pancakes? Have I mentioned that I love you?”

Hermann passes him his plate. “Not just for my cooking skills, I hope,” he says, drily, and pulls a chair out for himself. Newt, barely done wolfing down his third pancake, offers a muffled hum in response.

Once he swallows, he says, “So, this is nice, but just out of curiosity, am I forgetting something? Like an anniversary, maybe?”

The other offers a one-shouldered shrug and continues to spread butter on his own pancakes. “I simply thought to, ah,” here, he pauses, clears his throat, something like a blush on his cheeks. “‘Seize the moment,’ as you put it.”

Newt stops, blinks at him wordlessly for a moment. “Wait a minute,” he says, slowly, “is this about the conversation we had the other day? Are you, Hermann Gottlieb, finally coming out of the closet as a romantic because I pointed out we’ve known each other for more than half our lives?” He pauses, then adds, as seriously as he can, “That’s gay.”

Hermann rolls his eyes. “I’m  _married to you_ ,” he points out. “I should  _hope_  so. And yes,” he says, before Newt can latch onto that train of thought, “that conversation, coupled with a few other things, was the catalyst for this.”

“Aww,” Newt says, “adorable.”

Hermann scowls at him, but it’s halfhearted. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [three-black-cats](https://three-black-cats.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
